Manufacturing Evil
by HisRedRose123
Summary: The first three children to grace Wammy's halls were also the first to leave - one in a body bag, one with a weapon, and one who wished she'd done better
1. Prologue

All killers had a family - or some semblance of one. They had friends, most likely; had dreams and aspirations. They lived a life that they considered to be good, so much so that murder was not necessity in their mind. They were gratified, fulfilled. Perhaps even happy - or is that too strong of a word?

Regardless of their individual contentedness with youth, it remains a fact that a killer is not born a killer. I knew this from experience. I'd lived with one.

Beyond Birthday was strange, but he was decent. Vicious, but not violent (not in the early days at least). He preferred to scowl rather than smile but, then again, name a teenager that doesn't. He wasn't happy - far from it - but he hadn't murdered anyone by that point so that must've meant something, right?

At that time, we'd never have guessed his face would one day be plastered in black and white across the front covers of tabloid papers or that he'd attempt to burn himself alive in a desperate act of protest and a pathetic display of pride.

_We_ being the Wammy children, of course.

For those of you who aren't quite familiar with the name, allow me to elaborate. Wammy's was an orphanage that took the name of its founder, Quillish Wammy. Situated in the quaint little city of Winchester, a quiet urban area known best for its medieval architecture and overpriced accommodations, it was a large Edwardian structure purchased by Wammy not too long after the Second World War.

Though, Wammy's was no ordinary dumping ground for undesirables. Here, the brightest and most vigilant children were reared, their minds ripened for harvesting. Wammy's functioned much more like a school than anything else, with curricular lessons commencing at eight o'clock sharp and ending just before five o'clock in the evening. These lessons consisted of not only your basic English academic syllabus, but also syllabuses detaining criminological, pharmaceutical, and philosophical subject matter, as well as sociolinguistics, psychoanalysis, and how to handle a_ Glock 17_.

Originally, Wammy's demographic was solely British but eventually it became gathering place for abandoned geniuses across the continent, born from the utter depths of human depravity, to help them ascend to the level of global recognition and endless wealth.

Well, actually, only one child had managed to achieve that level of greatness, but the rest of us were _trying_.

I'd been one of the first to live under its roof. I'd only just turned nine when I was whisked away from the mother who couldn't cope and the neglectful father who blamed his entire life's misfortunes on me. A typical sob story that no one really has any interest in, so I shan't digress.

My name is - or rather was - Cecilia Ann Clarke. The most pretentious name to grace any child born in county Durham.

To me, that name was just a memory. A string of letters on a page. I relinquished that part of myself the moment I stepped through Wammy's gates. Not by choice, mind you. I had to. It was one of Wammy's core rules, a strange safety regulation made to avoid making children into political targets.

Thus, from the moment I crossed the threshold of Wammy's doors, I became known as C. It wasn't the most exceptional identifier - I mean, a _letter_? - but it was better than being numbered; letters maintained some semblance of humanity. Cecilia was my name, and that fact would remain a truth, but C was distinctive enough and I came to embrace it as my own. It wasn't until much later I was told it stood for Copy. Now _that_ was insulting.

As I said, the whole lettering business was put in place to protect us, but as time went by and more unwanted geniuses flooded Wammy's halls, a system arose. A hierarchy of sorts, with the most brilliant of us all reigning supreme.

L. He was the goal that we aspired to reach; the desired standard. The golden child that sat atop the pyramid with nothing but stars and sky stretched over his head, and the universe at his disposal. Truly, the world was his oyster. Below him, however, it was like the gladiator's pit; a myriad of bloody soldiers. The rest of us scrambled and fought for recognition, desperate to ascend through the rankings in this survival of the fittest. It was a cruel and vicious underworld. We fought - both verbally and physically - and sabotaged each other's education. People who I'd once called my friends became little more than competition.

We took the tedious workload. We took the harsh discipline. We took the condescending comments and the goddamn letters. We took it all in hopes that one day it might be worth it.

I think Beyond was the first to realise it wasn't.

To those of you that aren't already familiar with his story - and I'm sure there are many - I'll take it back to the beginning:

The alphabet commences with A and B so, naturally, I'll start there.

_Alternative _and_ Backup. Alpha _and_ Beta. _Adam and Beyond.

A and B were the original duo; the first two children that Wammy took in. They hadn't been there much longer than I had, but they were much, much smarter.

Being the first girl adopted into Wammy's care, I immediately became an interesting specimen to the two boys.

A and I had clicked almost instantly. We shared the same wry sense of humour and wit.

B, however, was much harder to connect with on an emotional level. He was always a bit weird. First off, he ate jam straight out of the jar... _with his hands_. His emotions were all over the place, and sometimes nonexistent. He'd say the strangest things about death, and even stranger things about _numbers_.

When I grew older, I begun to suspect some sort of mental illness plagued his brilliant brain. To be fair, we'd always thought he had some form of OCD (the boy would _not_ allow his room nor his person to be dirtied even if we paid him; he _had_ to be clean) but I feared something more sinister was bubbling beneath the surface.

As the months crawled by, I grew closer to the pair and spent less time by myself, hiding with a book inside Roger's office. I finally came out of my shell and decided to spend my spare time with whichever boy was doing something more interesting. Said boy was nearly always B. A was a hard worker and was constantly studying - something that my young self considered to be very boring. So I nearly always got stuck with the backup option (no pun intended).

If I thought Beyond was weird when I first met him, I had something coming.

During the times that we played together, I came to see Beyond's darker side. He was careless and twisted, always wanting to do something that would most definitely get us in trouble with Roger, if not killed.

It had started with relatively innocent things such as stealing chemicals from the science lab or climbing the pipes on the side of the house. However, as time passed and the level of familiarity between us grew, our games got more intense.

Beyond had dissected a live rabbit in front of me once. He'd held it down by the throat and carved it open with a scalpel he'd stolen in a lesson. The thing had clawed and screamed for what felt like hours, blood congealing in its white fur.

When I asked him why he'd done that, he said he liked it when they twitched.

I told no one what I'd seen out of fear he'd do the same to me.

Then came the more unmentionable activities.

I was a virgin once, but no stranger to sex. What, with my parents having done it several times with me still present in the room, and my father describing in vivid detail what he'd love to do to his tight-bodied female colleagues. My mother had explained to me that all men wanted one thing and it was important to be good at it. She told me I wasn't an ugly girl (_how kind, mum_) and this would mean I'd be a catch.

I'd been prepared from a young age. I knew more than I should.

For me, getting off with Beyond was not only a (premature) exploration of sexuality, it was an opportunity to thrive. I wanted to push my own limits, to see how far I could go without being criticised on my mistakes and branded with a strict A-F grade. It was my escape. My chance to express myself freely in a world where everything was orchestrated. There were no limits and no boundaries. Beyond knew this well, and he took advantage of it.

By age fifteen, I was doing things with Beyond that most adults wouldn't be willing to try. I wasn't ashamed, and for the most part, I enjoyed it. It was rough and it was brutal; far from an act of bonding, and even further from an expression of love. Beyond didn't love me and I didn't want him to. There was little to expect from that boy but pain - both in and out of the bedroom. He seemed incapable of offering anything other. Even so, I took his pain and worshipped it, right up to the last drop.

In hindsight, it was abuse. We were both children, yes, but Beyond took advantage of a weakness in me that no man or woman, regardless of age, should ever attempt to manipulate.

And I couldn't escape it, not for years, and even then, Beyond had left his mark. Session after session of therapy did little to elevate the damage that had been done. Years later and I'm still reminded of the boy who didn't love me and told me he knew when I would die.

Believe it or not, I was more worried for him than myself though. I'd held Beyond's interest in the same way a trembling fly did a spider. He loved the way my fear tasted. He loved to feel my agony as I shook, and the frustration in my tears. To this day, I fear it awakened something in him.

Inside that wild, raucous head of his, something finally clicked into place.

**A**/**N**

**_guys, the plot bunnies are holding me hostage again, send help_ \- grace**

**So, yes, I finally decided to write a fanfic for _Another Note_ after reading it for about the 50th time. It's such an intense, complex story and I love it. And I love Beyond. So much. _Too much_?**

**He's underrated in this fandom. Some people genuinely still don't know who he is and it's been *checks watch* fourteen years since_ Another Note_ was published. I'm sorry, but that's a sin in my books. **

**On a more serious note (excuse the pun), I ask that you read the trigger warnings included in the story's description before continuing. If this chapter wasn't proof enough, this story is dark, and it will become much darker very quickly.**

**[might edit. don't know. will see how I feel about this in the morning]**


	2. I - Wara Ningyo

_Try to imagine yourself walking where you don't belong_

_Try to find yourself where your world seems too far away_

_Everyday a light is burning somewhere for you_

_Every night you close your door and start to feel_

\- Lost in This World (Lost Area)

* * *

It was way too hot in the apartment the day I got the call from Him.

The afternoon sun was streaming through the open blinds, but I just couldn't muster the energy to close them. It had been a rough week. Too many papers to mark - and most of them weren't up to standard, which just made the whole experience even more tedious. My skin was clammy, sweat gathering in the folds of my clothes as I fanned myself half heartedly. The heat only helped my agitation to grow stronger and I was starting to become restless. Pale as I usually was, my face had broke out into a steaming red blush, displaying my humble English origins as well as any Union Jack bumper sticker.

I was living in Massachusetts and had been for two years. When I graduated Wammy's with my shiny new degree in psychology, everyone expected me to apply as a professor at Cambridge or Oxford, but my eyes wandered across the pond and onto *Yankee territory. I taught at Harvard; psychology. It was a job I would never have thought myself suited to, teaching the brilliant analytical minds of the future.

But here I was.

And I hated it. I hated myself.

To my right, my mobile rang shrilly. It was odd. I never had calls at this time of day and even if I did, it was always on my work phone - not my personal one. Dubious, but too tired to really question it, I picked it up and held it to my ear.

"Yeah?" I answered, rubbing my eyes.

"_Hello C_."

My eyes snapped open and I was now fully alert. The voice was unrecognisable thanks to the scrambler, but the smooth, apathetic way the speaker articulated himself was as familiar to me as my own reflection. There was no mistaking who this was, although I had no recollection of Him ever contacting me.

Ignoring the ache in my back and the stiffness in my legs, I stood and walked into the next room, closing the door shut behind me for some semblance of privacy in the small apartment.

"It's been a while since I've heard from you, L. We haven't spoken since my graduation," I said quietly, maintaining a polite and dejected level of interest despite my curiosity reaching an all time high. "How did you get this number?"

_"I'm L. I could find out where you purchased your last set of underwear if I wanted, and in what colour_."

Still such a brat.

"Wow, I'm so honoured you called me."

"_You should be_."

"What do you want?" I asked, already exasperated and not at all in the mood to entertain any of this man's wisecracks.

"_Have you watched the news recently_?"

"No, there's too many crime stories. It depresses me. Why?"

There was an awkward little pause, and L's response seemed to get stuck in His mouth, hesitant as He was to reply.

"_If crime stories bother you that much, I worry you won't like what I have to say_."

"Get on with it, L."

He did, graciously.

"_Three murders have recently occurred in Los Angeles, the corpses mutilated beyond visual recognition. They have no distinguishable connection, other than all three victims having alliterative names_."

Alright. Was that supposed to _mean_ something to me?

"Ah, sounds very Ripper-esque. Particularly grisly, I'm sure you're enjoying this one loads, detective. Now I'm sorry but what does this have to do with me again?"

Like before, L's words refused to materialise, His hesitance to speak much stronger than before. When He did eventually find the words, they were quiet and somber, begging my forgiveness without even needing to say _'I'm sorry_'.

_"This case has to do with you as I believe this may be the work of Beyond Birthday_."

The name seemed to blow right by me for a second, like an icy breeze caught on the tailwind of a passing car. It didn't compute; it wouldn't, it refused to. This was a name I'd repressed through years of therapy. A name my mind automatically associated with pain and grief and chaos.

I never spoke that name out loud. I couldn't tell you why. Fear of manifestation, I suppose ("speak of the devil" and all that). There was certain power in a name but - although I had supposedly '_conquered_' my trauma, according to my therapist - I could never bring myself to say his name, not even in a whisper.

"L," I said quietly, masking the tremors in my voice. "If you think I can find him, you're wrong. I haven't seen him since he left Wammy's, and he didn't exactly keep in touch."

L gave a tired sigh. The man had clearly exhausted all of His options before turning to me. I was never the first choice, unhelpful as I was, and in this scenario, I was quite obviously still the last resort. It didn't offend me. It was a fact. I was as useless to this case as a matchstick was to a burning building.

But L was oddly persistent to have me. If I was the conceited type, I might have even said He _needed_ me.

_"You know him better than anyone else, C. You were one of the few who could understand him_."

"You must be joking! Perhaps I could read his moods when we were younger, yes, but it's been years since then. And even then, he wasn't exactly the predictable type, L.

"Besides, I'm not a detective. Yes I specialise in psychology but Beyond was, and always has been, impossible to psychoanalyse. I won't be able to help you. You'd have better luck asking one of your boys for help."

I should've remembered that L was nothing if not stubborn. Once He had His mind set on something, He was very reluctant to let it go.

"_I'm not asking you to evaluate him. This has nothing to do with understanding why he is committing these murders. I require your participation to help locate him for I fear he is seeking out one final victim. And I believe if anyone can find Beyond Birthday, it's you_."

My sigh was one of exasperation. "Do I get a hint, at least?"

"_If I had any hints to hand, I would not require your help, because I would know where my suspect is._"

"Do you want me to help you? Because gloating is not the way to go about convincing me."

"_My apologies. This case has me a bit on edge_."

"I've noticed. Tell me about the victims."

"_I'm sending you the files now."_

"You don't have my—"

"_Yes, I do."_

A distant _ping_ told me an email had come through on my laptop. Stifling a sigh, I popped open the case and logged onto my account. My inbox was cleared and my emails were checked regularly so it wasn't hard to locate the document with L's summary of the case so far, along with a handful of attached pictures.

Ignoring the sense of dread beginning to crawl up into my throat, a small urgent voice begging me not to proceed, I clicked on the word document and began to read through.

"_As I said, the victims had no reasonable connection to one another. One male, aged forty-four. Name: Believe Bridesmaid. Two females, ages thirteen and twenty-six. Names: Quarter Queen and Backyard Bottomslash respectively. All murders occurred within a six mile radius within thirteen days."_

"Okay. And you say they have nothing in common?"

"_Nothing_."

"Right. Anything else noteworthy?"

"_There was one particular object of interest discovered at each crime scene. Straw dolls found nailed to the wall. In Japan, they're referred to as Wara Ningyo._"

"Let me guess, it's some sort of occult practice."

"_Correct. Historically, they were used to ward off evil spirits. More recently, however, they have been created as effigies to represent living people with the intention to cause said people harm."_

"Voodoo dolls?" I asked sceptically, raising a brow. "That doesn't really sound like Beyond's style - he was a realist; purely pragmatic - but I wouldn't totally put it past him. He had such an obsession with death. He was always saying something about seeing people's numbers."

"_Yes, I remember."_

"Did you ever believe him?"

"_No_."

"Not even when Adam died?"

"_Not even then. If anything, it further convinced me that Beyond was the one to goad him into doing what he did."_

The sharp intake of breath came unbidden as I pictured my friend's drained wrists and deathly pallor, white as the sheets he laid upon.

Unable to miss my sudden gasp, L paused, taking on a softer tone.

"_I apologise. I understand it's still a sensitive topic for you_."

"It's fine," I said quickly, eager to push the image out of my mind.

I clicked open the image files and was immediately overcome with the urge to gag. Three bodies - flayed, drained, and mutilated - were presented on the screen. It was the type of stuff you see in horror films: needless gore, bloody messes, injuries that made it obvious the victims suffered before they died.

"Jesus, you weren't kidding about the mutilation. This is horrible. You really think Beyond is capable of this?"

_"You would be a better judge of that, I'm sure_."

I twitched violently, twisting in my seat, the scar on my ribcage seeming to throb now that it's existence had been recalled. Mindlessly, I rubbed it, soothing any ghostly pain.

"I don't know, L. These seem different. They're clearly experimental but at the same time... so precise. Like they'd been planned out and practiced weeks in advance. The bodies are intentionally messy but the crime scenes are perfectly spotless. What, there's not even _one_ fingerprint in the entire house?"

There was silence and I could practically envision L raise His eyebrow at that statement.

"Actually, now I say it out loud, I do see where you're coming from. This does seem like Beyond: deviant, dramatic..."

I left out _cruel_ because that would have been stating something we both were well aware of.

"But still," I continued after a moment of pause. "He's been off the radar for so long. How can you be sure this is him?"

_"I'm not. That's why I want you to get involved_."

I blinked as the penny finally dropped.

"So I'm bait?"

_"No. I just feel Beyond is more likely to come out of hiding when presented with an opportunity to torment you - for nostalgia's sake_."

"Glorified bait. A pig for slaughter. Right. Thank you, L."

"_Call it whatever you like, but I need your answer now: do you accept?"_

A thousand different thoughts came to me in that one instant. On one hand, this could be like signing my own death warrant; a glorified suicide for the sake of justice. Beyond - assuming this was indeed the work of Beyond - was no witless criminal. He'd been taught by the best and, although he was viciously insane, under Wammy's roof, he had flourished. There were few minds on the planet that were greater than his and mine was certainly not included. If I was put in a room with that man again, I seriously did fear he would kill me.

But then again, at the mind-numbing rate my life was going momentarily, I was going to end up killing myself before the year's end. At least I could potentially help save someone else's life this way. It might even be worth it.

"You swear I'll be safe?"

"_You will be given as many security precautions as you feel comfortable with. You have my word, Cecilia. No harm will come to you."_

"In that case, yes. I trust you."

_"Good. Your flight is in five hours from Logan airport. I've already contacted the university. As far as they're aware, you are taking temporary leave for your health. Oh, I'll also need you to destroy your laptop the moment our conversation ends. I cannot risk this information being exposed publicly_."

"Seriously?" I deadpanned. "Will you be buying me a new one?"

_"I'll think about it."_

Just an absolute brat.

"Alright, fine. I'll speak to you soon."

"_Goodbye, C_."

I shoved my phone in my pocket, picking up my laptop and - with a sad sorry sigh - threw it out the open window, hearing a heart wrenching crash as it connected with the concrete below. It was poetic really. Part of me wondered if I too meet the same fate that computer did. Yes, I could see it now. I'd be found dead in a ditch somewhere, silenced and unable to interfere with whatever master plan Beyond's sick mind had formulated.

I wanted to trust L to keep me safe, I really did. But, deep down, I already knew I'd signed my life away in agreeing to this case. This man, this thing that haunted my dreams, was definitely going to kill me.

_Why did I feel so excited?_

The sound of suitcases scraping along the floor awoke the man sleeping on the couch. His head, lolling off the armrest, snapped up and confused eyes met my own.

This man was Roberto. A postgraduate literature student of Harvard and my boyfriend of nine months. Puerto Rican in origin, his accent was smooth and seductive, and he made an excellent lover. We'd been living together for two months and I'd been suspecting for a while that he had plans to propose to me. Part of me, that part that longed for some semblance of normalcy, wanted to say yes.

But, by God, was he boring.

"Where are you going, love?" he asked, tired brown eyes sweeping over my bags with a cautious, questionary gleam.

"I don't think this is working, you know," I explained, trying not to look him in the eyes. "I was trying to find a decent time to tell you but now is as good a time as any. I'm packing my stuff."

"Wait, what?" came his confused response as he scrambled off the couch to his feet. "Have you lost your mind?"

I nodded. "Quite possibly, yeah."

My boyfriend - well, _ex_ \- was stunned.

"Are you bored of me? Is that it? I mean, how long have you considered leaving? Are you already seeing someone else?"

Could he seriously shut up? I was trying to think.

"It's nothing to do with you," I said coldly, throwing a bag over my shoulder. "I just don't think we're right for each other. It's not fair on either of us to stay in a relationship. You're too good for me, Roberto."

He looked like a kicked puppy. If I'd been a kinder person, I probably would have sat down and had a serious conversation with him about this.

Sadly for him, I had a flight to catch.

"Did you ever love me at all?"

"No. But don't worry, you're not the first."

His stunned face was the last thing I saw as I shut the door behind me.

**A/N**

*** disclaimer: I KNOW YANKEE IS DEROGATORY! I NEVER USE IT IN MYSELF, MY CHARACTER IS JUST AN ASSHOLE! DONT FIGHT ME AMERICA!**

**Here. We. Go. **

**I'm excited to finally kick this one into action. It's been swimming around in my mind for months but I just haven't had the energy to put words on paper (well _metaphorically_). Lockdown has completely drained me of free time and willpower, and any free time I do have is either spent working or with my new beau (hehe small clap for me). Yeahhh. It's taken a while but it's here. **

**What do you guys think of C? She's a complicating character to write. She's pessimistic and depressed and her mind is all over the place. I never fully know what mood I want her to be in or what direction to take her down. She's kinda an asshole - a self-deprecating asshole - but I still love her! Hope you guys like her too. Lemme know what you think, I missed you all and your comments!**

**Remember to stay safe and wear a mask, my lovelies!**


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